


my faults were full and plenty (yours tore me up)

by comehereoften



Series: the undone and the divine [2]
Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: F/F, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 22:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12375153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comehereoften/pseuds/comehereoften
Summary: It's the night before the wedding, still there's time to break a handful of promises, and a couple of hearts.





	my faults were full and plenty (yours tore me up)

**Author's Note:**

> This is unabashedly dedicated to [shatterthelight](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shatterthelight), for reminding me how I'll never be free and dragging me back into hell.

It's the middle of a lazy afternoon when Rose knocks on Luisa's door, Luisa who lets her in without a second thought.

She's flushed an endearingly amusing shade of pink, fair skin unaccustomed to the sun; noticing Luisa's faint smirk outlines her features in a scowl.

"I'm pale, I burn."

"I noticed."

They were both burning.

"Can I ask why you're here? Because if you want to know how to deal with sunstroke google would have sufficed."

In truth she knows, it glares out in bright red pen from the small calendar that sits by her bedside. A neat cross and the simple proclamation of "WEDDING" in crimson marker.

Rose pushes into the room, like she pushes into every corner of Luisa's life and expects it to make space for her; in her room, in her heart, in her bed.

She is less reserved than usual, the impending ceremony seemingly leeching some of the rigidity from her spine as she kicks off her shoes, drops three inches in height and then another foot as she half sits, half falls onto the bed in a contained flurry of tight lips and furrowed brow. Luisa crosses her arms, stays put, a desperate attempt not to come undone in the space of seconds.

"It's not..." She begins, a few unsteady heartbeats later. "...medical."

Luisa laughs at that, how could she not, because when is it ever? When has it ever been something as simple, something that only requires digging into her degree instead of endless parts of herself. Rose scowls again and Luisa softens, already beginning to unravel.

A sigh and a small sacrifice of dignity later and Luisa joins her, perches on the edge of the bed frame; rigid, awkward, like a shop mannequin, all stiff angles and being pulled roughly into shape by some external force.

"So, what can I do for you?" She probes, clipped and cold.

Maybe she could pretend it _was_ medical, maybe she could be clinical, concise, cauterise her heart before her feelings could begin spilling out.

"I said it wasn't medical."

Maybe not.

"Well, what then?" The question flies out a little sharper than intended, leaves a bitter taste on her lower lip.

Rose looks at her and it's almost, _almost,_ pained; or rather it would be, if she let that much light reach her eyes. It's a gaze that hurts to hold and Luisa severs the contact before it can bruise into her further.

Rose doesn't appear to have gathered her words so Luisa breaks the silence.

"It's me." Compassion seeps into her tone.

"Sorry?" Rose looks at her with something less sincere than confusion.

"It's me, you don't have to pretend." Luisa wonders if she can barter vulnerability, but Rose still won't take the risk.

"I don't know what you mean." Rose looks away.

Luisa narrows her eyes and struggles not to scream.

"Then why are you here, Rose? Because in case you hadn't noticed you're marrying my father tomorrow, at a wedding I'm supposed to be attending with my girlfriend."

_And sitting through smiling as if I don't watch him collect wives the way most rich men collect cars, not dealing with whatever last minute nerves seem to have got the better of you._

The words tumble out of her mouth with a messy kind of heat and singe the edges of her tongue. Luisa winces as she listens to herself, she's never really grappled too well with self-control.

"You're exasperating." Rose has barely been there a minute and already the emotional toll is beginning to settle into Luisa's skin.

"Coming from you that feels like some sort of achievement." Rose snipes.

"So that's why you're here? To insult me?"

"I wanted to see you."

It's that brutal honesty that flies out of Rose in fragments, wild and sporadic and so terribly piercing, it leaves them both raw. Because Luisa can be angry, she can be exhausted and annoyed and all but clawing at the walls but she'll take it a thousand times over if it means stumbling across those moments when, for a fraction of a second, Rose chooses _her._

She collects them like postcards; dated, signed and sealed away in the back corner of her mind.

She struggles not to laugh.

_Some vacation._

Luisa stands abruptly, as if the mattress had begun to burn, retreats a less than safe distance. She buries her gaze in the flock of the wallpaper and makes a mental note to start looking, really looking, for her own apartment and get out of this damned hotel.

Rose takes the lapse in conversation into her own hands.

"I wanted to see if you were okay."

_Wow. Left field._

But it wasn't. Not really. They may be mixed up and messy and complicated in the worst way but throughout it all Rose _cared_. Concern had been her only constant in their endless sea of back and forths as they battled the tides and denied the undertow.

"Why? Making sure I don't make a scene on your special day?"

That one really stings, rubs the salt right in. She can hear it pierce Rose from across the room and the spite fills her chest with something ugly, a foreign body left to fester.

"Why would I- No. Look, maybe I should go." Rose looks visibly deflated. It's rare. Human.

Luisa can't bring herself to muster any more malice, she lets the anger roll off her like a desperate wave and it affords her enough rationale to not just look at Rose but to _see_ her. See the lines sculpting her brow into a shadow of something like worry, something like hesitation. See her hands pulling at Luisa's bed sheets in a way they never have before. She sees the most silent of screams echoing in her eyes and the reluctance to uproot herself from where she sits and sees that for once, Rose soon-to-be Solano, looks scared.

"Are _you_ okay?"

Rose freezes over, hardens, and she is cut glass once more. "Why wouldn't I be."

"I'm not sure you want this." Luisa can't help herself, it's not unusual.

"Luisa-" It's a soft warning.

"Screw that, I don't think you want any part of it."

Rose bites down on her lip and unbeknownst to Luisa she's really biting her tongue. Want is irrelevant. Right now it's what she needs, what _this role_ needs, a tiny piece of a larger picture. What she hadn't accounted for was the woman before her, all defiance and ardour and so very, very real. Agonisingly so. Easing a pulse into her with the slow drip of a blood transfusion.

It's an afternoon of uncharacteristic moments as Rose doesn't have an answer, Luisa long since set fire to her script. They blunder through uncharted territory creating something too catastrophic even to be considered art. Again Luisa doesn't allow the silence to stretch.

"You don't have to do this." It's quiet and cracked and hangs heavy between them.

Rose laughs, a bitter and twisted thing that Luisa wouldn't understand until years later, tear stained and hanging onto the end of a phone line.

Luisa groans, masks her face with her hands and rubs at her eyes until murky spots of colour starburst behind them. There's a weight in her bones that doesn't want to lift and in that moment she feels every wretched ounce of it. Dragging her towards a liquor-soaked safety net despite knowing that's the last thing she wants to catch her.

"Lu?" She knows it came from Rose and the deliverance is her downfall.

_Her voice is like velvet. How is that even allowed._

Luisa's cracks blow open along every shaky fault line and she crumbles before the only person who's never been afraid to get cut on her edges.

A sigh slips out between her fingers. "I'm just so fucking tired."

"Come here."

Luisa lets her hands fall, blinks back into focus, tries to lace her stare with incredulity and fails miserably.

"Please."

She doesn't let herself think, just lets her feet carry her over to the other side of the bed before tumbling face first into the pillows. Closes her eyes again. Breathes in the eiderdown and considers maybe never coming back up for air.

"You'll give yourself wrinkles like that." Rose chides gently.

Luisa doesn't look up for fear of catching her eye.

"Shush."

She does. And for the first time the silence is comfortable. Easy. It's a hush that isn't expectant.

Luisa's muscles start to melt into the mattress, just as she feels it dip beside her, feels cool fingers trace indiscriminate sigils into the exposed skin of her shoulder. It's a faint divinity that knits them together in the still of a Thursday afternoon.

She drifts, sleep and consciousness both fleeting, fissured with half-recollections of afternoon light, of Rose's gentle breathing and waking now and then with her fingers lightly tangled in soft strands of red hair.

She's alone when she wakes, and Luisa wonders if it was all a dream. A torturous last minute attempt worked up by her subconscious to tip her back over into her self destructive default in the name of love.

The faint smear of Rose's lipstick in the corner of her pillow tells her it wasn't.

 

**_..._ **

 

Rose hates the mirror.

There's too much it shows, and too much it doesn't.

It reflects woman, negates monster. Teases human. Boasts every flaw she's yet to see, glosses over all the ones she knows. The woman in the mirror is an echo, an aspiration, an alias. Maybe all three. Maybe none. She's not sure anymore.

The woman in the mirror is hard. Flat. More plastic than person. She's trapped. Frangible. Liable to smash. Rose hates that woman's silence. Loves her submission. She strips her and paints her and sands her rough edges. Lays her to rest now and then. Never mourns.

Sometimes that woman is all the people she used to be. Increasingly she's become the only one she wants to. Increasingly she's been searching that woman for a way out, or maybe the woman's been searching her. It's the most elegant, aggravating paradox and it makes Rose wonder if maybe, she's more than a handful of fragments sewn into a designer dress.

Right now she can't afford to wonder, right now she has to focus, find her way back to the familiarity of single mind. She'd stumbled only hours ago, wound up at Luisa's door with cold hands and colder feet and fallen headfirst into her warmth. Let her fire heat her fingertips.

Rose looks at the dress laid out on the bed. Scarlet. Curve-hugging. She sighs and lets all thought fall from her mind, erases consciousness; envisions grey, blank, the surface of a pebble worn smooth by the sea. She turns back to the mirror and applies makeup with numb fingers.

She paints herself together in pieces. The curvature belonging to her top lip, the gentle sweep of an eyelid, the slope of her jaw, powdered and pressed but never together. Never as whole as when Luisa's smile bounces off the corners of her mouth.

The woman in the mirror frowns. Or maybe Rose does. For now both of them need to stay the course. There'd been too much variation recently. Too much _deviation_. This stage was simple, clear, and yet a certain pint-sized whirlwind had thrown her alarmingly offtrack. Jump-started her heart without any warning. She has to draw a line, blame biology, call it chemical. Even if it meant leaving Luisa choking in her dust.

She'd done it before, she could do it again.

Couldn't she?

Her phone buzzes. Gives her a ten minute warning. She banishes the woman in the mirror and as she finishes applying her lipstick the smirk is all Rose. Blood red. Resolute. Unwavering.

 

 **_..._ **  

 

It has to be joke. It _would_ be if it wasn't so agonising. And still Luisa wants to laugh because it's easier than the alternative. Rose has to realise, hasn't she? That the dress is so ridiculously, _painfully_ , reminiscent of the first night they met. Deep red and effortlessly tailored, clinging to all the right places and swathing her like a second skin.

One that makes Luisa want to peel her back out of it right there and then.

She can't decide whether or not it was a good thing Allison had rung, last minute, to inform her she wouldn't be coming. Gushy and apologetic and sounding like she'd expected an argument but in all honesty Luisa was simply too exhausted. She'd only half listened to the rushed excuse, something about the office needing her to stay late and how maybe it wasn't such a bad thing since it was a family event and they hadn't been seeing each other long. That it might be complicated.

It was all Luisa could do not to burst out laughing, tempered only by a vaguely crushing feeling that she simply didn't want to be there, with her.

Instead she's alone, leaning her head on her hand at the farthest table, thinking about how good her soon-to-be stepmother looks in that dress and how much better she'd look out of it. And if you couldn't laugh at that...

_Who has an engagement party the night before the wedding? In your own hotel?_

It's obvious really, it's all about image. Promotion. Money. Rose showing off the jewel encircling her finger. Emilio showing off the jewel hanging off his arm.

"No Allison tonight?"

Luisa jumps as she's knocked from her reverie.

"Jesus Christ, Raf. Do you _want_ me to have a heart attack?"

Rafael grins. "Wouldn't be ideal but at least there's a doctor on site." He swipes a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. Luisa watches the pale gold liquid as he lifts the flute, captivated by the bubbles, she watches it drain, swallows hard, considers.

"So?"

"So what?"

_Shit, did he notice me staring-_

"No Allison?"

Luisa exhales, hard. "She had to work. No Petra?"

"Ditto." Rafael empties the glass and Luisa's mouth goes dry.

_It couldn't hurt, no one would notice..._

"Well, I better go mingle with these people I don't know. Hey do you think they'll be at the wedding? Barely any of this crowd is family." Rafael looks at her expectantly, it's strange, maybe it's the champagne but usually he doesn't ask her opinion on anything.

Luisa just shakes her head, circumvents any answer relating to the upcoming nuptials. "This is all business."

Rafael nods slowly. Turns to go before turning back. "Luisa?"

"Yeah?"

"Watch yourself." He smiles, walks away, and Luisa is left feeling more mixed up than before.

She slumps back against the table, and the neon of her orange juice starts to scream, begs to be tainted. In the dark of the room she's suddenly hyperaware of every glass, every bottle, every person smiling and laughing and _drinking_. Her eyes fall on Rose, full glass in hand, an absence of lip prints around the rim, smiling but it doesn't reach her eyes, as if it's painted on with her lipstick.

She looks away and sees a freshly opened bottle on the bar, doesn't notice Rose watching her, as she has been all evening every time Luisa turns away.

_Fuck it._

Luisa moves swiftly, grabs the bottle before anyone can realise and walks out to the pool, collapses on a lounge chair.

Inside Rose excuses herself, offers a nose powdering excuse before walking as quickly as six inch heels and a desire not to attract attention will allow. She spots Luisa just as she's bringing the bottle to her lips.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Luisa starts, narrowly misses throwing champagne down her front.

"What is it with everyone trying to give me a fucking coronary tonight."

Rose plants both hands on her hips. "That's not an answer."

"What makes you think you're entitled to ask the question?"

Luisa's glare sears, her hands around the bottle tighten, like she can suffocate every painful truth that accompanies the animal desire to exit her own head for a while. That throwing alcohol down her throat is easier than the burning that comes with breathing. That at the end of the night it's the one thing that never leaves her, never lies to her.

Rose grits her teeth, exhales slowly. "I ca-"

Luisa jumps up, leans in with such burning ferocity the heat nearly knocks Rose off her feet.

"Don't. Don't you dare say you care."

Luisa is ablaze, she scorches, and Rose can almost smell the burning flesh as sparks fly off her through the whisper of air between them and singe her skin. Rose glances around, the pool is deserted, everyone she invited but doesn't really know waiting on her return to Emilio's side.

Luisa laughs, and it tears Rose in two to hear such a bitter sound pouring from the woman she won't allow herself to love.

"There's no one out here, why do you think I am? Whatever. Just- just leave me alone."

Rose shakes her head, doesn't move.

Luisa thrusts the bottle into her hands. "Here, take it." She slumps back into the chair. "My father will be wondering where you've gone."

It takes an almighty force of will to leave Luisa there; even with her screaming at her to go, every cell in Rose's body is screaming at her to stay. The bottle is heavy in her hand but it's lighter than whatever is weighing on her chest so she turns, blinks back the thunderheads threatening her vision, and heads back inside.

 

**_..._ **

 

Luisa finishes transcribing the phone number onto a small notepad and lets the pen clatter loudly on the desk. She stretches her arms up, arches her spine, relaxes with a roll of her shoulders. The apartment isn't ideal but it's close to her work, far from the hotel, more importantly it would be _hers_. She'd ring the realtor in the morning.

She goes to close the browser window when there's a knock at her door, the tiny clock in the corner of the screen confirms it's well past two AM, and she wonders if her sleep deprived state was starting to manifest as phantom night callers.

The knock comes again, more insistent.

She rises with a groan that segues into a yawn and contorts her grumbled, "Alright, I'm coming, jeez."

She opens the door to a confirmation of her worst fears; Rose stands there, fist raised, straightened hair starting to curl, stupidly beautiful.

Luisa doesn't have time to complain as Rose drops her hand and whispers a hurried, "Can I come in?"

Luisa moves to the side, makes a sweeping gesture for Rose to enter and tries to stem the string of expletives bubbling up on her tongue. She walks back to her desk in silence and turns to face her.

Rose shuts the door softly, turns and leans back against it as if - unlike several hours earlier - she's afraid, or at the very least apprehensive, to walk in.

Luisa scolds herself, despairs at letting Rose in again, at letting her in at all, remonstrates with her own weak will to the point of mental flagellation. The turmoil must start to seep out of her features as Rose takes a step forward and says,

"You don't look pleased to see me."

_Is. She. Serious._

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know." Rose wrings her hands, stares at the wall, the ceiling, the floor. Anywhere but Luisa.

"Have you been drinking?"

Rose looks at her then, opens her mouth to reply but Luisa cuts her off.

"Only usually an honest answer needs prying out of you with a crowbar."

She couldn't argue with that; typically, coaxing candour from Rose requires breaking down barriers with blunt force, before teasing out a sliver of truth with a careful finesse, a well-timed touch, or an offhand observation that fractures her facade just enough to let Luisa's light in.

"No, I have not."

Luisa rolls her eyes.

_And the ice queen fails to thaw._

"Shouldn't you be with-" Luisa averts her gaze, chokes on the last word, " _Him_."

"Not tonight, bad luck and all."

"Because you're such a stickler for tradition, clearly."

Rose wants to refute her but she's the one that came to her, she's one the who went back on the decision she made only hours ago, she's the one who can never seem to unpick herself from Luisa's seams - however frayed. It's moth to flame. Magnetic. Inevitable.

Luisa notices Rose look behind her, squint slightly, before realising she's staring at the open screen.

"You're moving?"

Luisa's not sure whether it's the late hour or lack of sleep or both but Rose almost sounds... Sad? Disheartened? It's borderline confusing, beyond aggravating.

"I think I could do with some distance."

_From you._

She doesn't say it out loud but it's written over her face, it's written over her whole body and Rose can hear it, unspoken but deafening.

Luisa reaches behind her and shuts her laptop, waits for the quiet whirr of the hardware to cool and fall still. She wants to say it's late, wants to be left alone to crawl into bed and fall into the arms of a bottle. She wants to scream, wants to send Rose away, wants to push her up against the doorframe and kiss her stupid, perfect mouth.

More than anything she just wants Rose to confess, stop walking on the eggshells of truth and spill all the pieces of her messy, hardened heart. But she knows better than to hold out for miracles.

"I know it's late, and you probably want to be left alone, but..."

Rose trails off, crosses the immeasurable distance between them, just falls short of closing the gap her body is begging her to.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry, for earlier."

_Which bit._

"Before the party or during."

Rose hates Luisa's directness, hates the unremitting brutal simplicity that most people blanket with sugar. Hates that it forces her to look inside and find something real. Hates that it's the thing she loves about her most.

"By the pool."

Something in her doesn't dare divulge any more, not now, not tonight when everything is so terribly tenuous and, despite her best efforts, the way Luisa looks at her makes her want to forfeit everything she's spent years building.

Luisa just raises her eyebrows. "That's it? You turn up here in the middle of the night hours before your wedding to apologise for trying to stop me from drinking? Okay, apology accepted. Now if there's nothing else-"

Rose lifts a hand to Luisa's jaw, stops before it can connect and tucks an errant strand of hair back behind her ear; she looks Luisa right in the eye and excavates every buried emotion.

"I'm sorry."

Luisa doesn't need to search, she sees it all. She softens, nods. Luisa reaches up to where Rose's hand lingers, slots their fingers together for a moment before pulling gently, met with no resistance she presses her lips to the alabaster of Rose's wrist.

Rose's breath pierces her throat, and Luisa's kiss hurts but not as much as carving out yet another piece of herself. One small, logical part of her brain starts to protest, but then Luisa moves Rose's hand to her hip and her palm curves around the notch of bone like it was sculpted just for her.

Luisa twines her arms around Rose's neck and tangles her fingers in her hair, pulls, drags her lips over Rose's throat and up to her mouth, bruises. Pushes her backwards until her legs hit the end of the bed and Rose tumbles back with all the grace of a fallen angel. Luisa falls with her, covers her like something sinful.

Stars explode at the tips of her fingers as Luisa fumbles with the zip at the back of Rose's dress, until she pulls it down in one fluid motion and struggles not to rip the straps from her shoulders. She peels it away, exposes every dip and curve and traverses her angles with kisses. Her shoulder, her ribs, down over her hips as the dress puddles on the floor and back up to her jaw. Half starved, half reverent.

She feels Rose's teeth at her ear, at her neck, against her collarbone and biting into her veins. Rose feels the rush of blood beneath her lips, the delicate pulse sighing into her mouth and revels in what it means to be alive.

She's acutely aware of a sudden absence of heat as Luisa's hands move from her waist to her own shirt before Rose steers them back and takes the task upon herself, unfastens her in more ways than one.

She undoes her bones like she undoes her buttons, and she _is_ her undoing.

Luisa pulls the shirt over her head, tosses it to some dark corner of the room and Rose is sure there is nothing more beautiful than the way she leans over her, eyes burning, chest heaving; she reaches up with careful palms, cups her jaw, pulls her in.

Luisa's kiss courses through her like wildfire and Rose is nothing but ash and rising flame, begging for more, begging to burn. She wants more heat, more light, more time. Luisa slides out of her skirt and they are skin on skin and still she wants more.

The need is so desperate it cuts through muscle, through skin, rips past flesh and throws open the contents of her chest with only a kiss pressed to her sternum.

Rose is scorched sinew and exposed heart and Luisa knows from experience how much she'll take.

She gives it anyway.

 

**_..._ **

 

Neither of them speaks for what feels like forever, the reality is closer to half an hour but the silence is so leaden it stretches, sempiternal.

Luisa's head rests on Rose's shoulder, her arms encircle her waist as their legs tangle and their breath begins to return.

Rose turns away and Luisa takes the opportunity to admire the stroke of her jawline.

_That could cut me._

"What are you looking at?"

"Just your inexorable ability to ruin me."

"That's all?"

She hums in acknowledgement, leaning forward and pressing her lips to the jut of Rose's collarbone, tracing up the column of her neck with the tip of her nose and tucking a whisper behind her ear.

"That's all."

She feels Rose smile before she sees it, but when she does it's the most devastatingly alive Rose has ever looked, and she wants nothing less than to tarnish this moment but the impossible question is burning a hole in her throat.

"This doesn't change anything, does it." She poses it rhetorically, lets herself down for the fall.

Rose fails to articulate the obvious answer.

"Didn't think so."

Luisa sighs, rolls onto her back and drills her eyes into the ceiling. Wonders when her ribs will start to ache.

Rose knows she has to go, knows it's the last thing she wants. As ever she knows need will win. She wants to stay, wants to lose herself in Luisa's skin, rediscover pulse as the woman next to her rends through her chest and cradles her heart in her hands just to prove it's still beating. She wants to free the thrumming of her blood and beg forgiveness from it's stains on her hands. She wants to live again.

Luisa knows better than to ask her to stay, still Rose wishes she didn't.

Rose watches Luisa crack the ceiling with a stare and slowly extricates herself from rapidly cooling sheets, the disturbance pulls another heavy sigh from Luisa's lips and Rose tries hard not to wince. She retrieves black lace and red silk from the floor and dresses slowly, drags out their borrowed time in the faint hope she can steal some more.

Luisa turns onto her side, props herself up on her hand and maps constellations into the freckles on Rose's back, admires the pale curve of her spine.

"Did you choose that dress on purpose?" She queries.

"What do you mean?" Rose pulls up the silk that's pooled around her waist.

"Nothing." Luisa lets it lie, with little desire to revisit a time things seemed so much simpler.

Rose slips her arms through the straps of her dress and pauses, can't bring herself to look at Luisa but can't bring herself not to try for one last touch.

"Zip me up?"

She feels warm pressure on the small of her back and still she doesn't look round as Luisa helps piece her back together. She hears the zip slowly meshing back together and it is the loudest sound in the world. Luisa's hands linger by her nape, come to rest on her shoulders and before Rose can protest Luisa's lips press kisses into her neck. Rose sighs, lets her eyelids flutter closed.

"I need to go."

Luisa pulls away, falls back into the pillows and Rose already mourns the absence of heat. She glances round for her shoes but can't will her feet to move.

"I'm not letting you in next time." Luisa insists.

Rose can't help herself. "You will."

"How do _you_ know." She almost sounds insulted.

It isn't a how, more of a why. The thing that leaves them, eternally entwined, across all time and distance, beyond hours and oceans, it's their red string. And Rose, teetering on the edge of Luisa's bed, leaves her with a parting gift of her own personal nadir, entrusts Luisa with the painfully honest spark of her humanity.

She leans over, presses her lips to the impression beneath Luisa's cheekbone, confesses.

"Because this never feels like goodbye."

For once Luisa's lost for words, she watches Rose stand, smooth her dress, reach for her shoes. She watches Rose cross the room, pause for a fraction of a second before she turns the handle, and she watches as her heart walks out the door.


End file.
